User blog comment:Denrael Sabretooth/Death and Darkness RPG/@comment-3135907-20130208222316

Atleg dashes off, half-limping, in the direction of his master's horde, thanking the fates he is still alive. After awhile of running he is suddenly accosted by a rat and a weasel. The fox looks up, panting. "Er, Cap'n Anglin, sir!" he gasps out between ragged breaths. The weasel looks him up and down, then he and the rat exchange intrigued glances. "What in Hellgates happened to yew, Atleg? By th' claw and fur, ya look like ye've been mauled by a badger in Bloodwrath!" says Anglin. "By th' way, where's Graffa got to?" The fox freezes. His reply is a desperate whine. "Don' slay me, cap'n sir! There was thousands of `em, big otters they was. A-and shrews, too! They slew Graffa an' tol' me that I was next. But I ran, sir, noble cap'n sir, t' tell yer o' their presence. The mountain's full o' `ares, too, huge ones, like the ones we saw in the Northlands. An' a bloodthirsty badger lord, aye, crazed an' frothin' at the mouth. We can't go to Salawotsit, we'll all die! Pleez-" The fox stops and stares in fear at the swordpoint on his throat. "We don't take insubordinates in camp, Atleg," says the weasel calmly. "Either you're with us in attackin' the mountain or you're agin us. Goodbye." The two captains turn and begin to head back toward camp when Anglin stops again. Whirling expertly, he runs the fox through with his sword. "Oh, and we also don't take liars. Scumhide, let's go report this worthless filth's death. He probably killed Graffa on account o' that extra pay `is Lordship gave her instead o' him."